I'm home for the holidays. Home being my parents' house in Dallas. It's only been 24 hours since I got here, but my mother has already given me four sincere talks about how nobody will care about the blog in the long run and how I should have as many kids as possible. The woman had nine children and is a propagation zealot. To give you some sense of her ideas on birth control, she even refused to have our cats fixed. We lived in a sea of kittens growing up.
"But two is such a nice number," I say, looking at her for pity.
"It's the refiners fire!" she shoots back.
"But it's so hard," I whine.
"It's supposed to be hard. It'll get you to heaven."
"I'll still get to heaven even if I only have two," I counter argue.
She hesitates, "...that's true..."
(I just read this blog post to my mom before posting for her approval and she said, "It's not true. People who only have two children rot in hell. Hell for slackers. For blogging slackers."
Get your story straight, Mom. Can I get fixed or not?